


Kamalasutra

by spymaster41



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M, Trump's a whiner but what's new, kamala's done with this shit, shitpost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28913727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spymaster41/pseuds/spymaster41
Summary: Alright, the shitposting in my head has reached maximum capacity. Time to commit some of it to paper. Based on the "Trumpland" characters and fic, taking place before Kamala goes to see her husband for the first time (Chapter 6). Enjoy!
Relationships: Kamala Harris/Donald Trump, Kamala Harris/Mike Pence, Vladimir Putin/Donald Trump
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Kamalasutra

Kamala Harris wasn't ordinarily this cruel. But when the food was THIS bad… "Send it back" she waved the guard at her door away, slamming it shut in his face as he stared at her menacingly through the cracks, hissing his displeasure. Kamala eyed him between the slits, matching his gaze. "Look at it! ITS FUCKIN RAW" she said, in her best Gordon Ramsay impression. He growled in return. Kamala didn't have time to deal with him as his hisses turned into barks, then meows, and finally purrs, until once she had fully dressed for the day, she opened the door to find a fluffy white kitten staring up at her with innocent, hopeful eyes. She picked it up, carrying it under one arm and stroking it softly as she made her way towards Trump's office for the daily morning meeting. A jingle-jangle from its collar noted the name "Boris". "Don't worry baby" she cooed to the soft kitten, "Mamala is gonna take care of youuuu". The kitten licked her hand.

She reached Trump's office to find shouts of anger, interspersed by loud bangs and bams originating from who-knows-what, coming from the other side of the door. Her sense of self-preservation was overcome by her need to be in the know, and she opened the door to find a miniature war taking place within the Oval Office. She spied Trump from behind his desk, surrounded by a squad of secret service agents who took turns rising above their cover to take potshots at the Russians, who controlled the southern hemisphere of this battlefield. A sofa and coffee table were their only cover as a lobbed grenade arced over their heads, causing a torrent of screams to emanate from the group before one slightly smarter member picked it up and chucked it into the presidential bathroom. A dull BOOM could be heard from behind the doorframe, and Trump stood up from his cover amidst the warnings of his agents not to, indignant. "Those bathroom tiles cost me a small loan from my father!" he bellowed in anger. "If Mexico ain't paying for my wall you're sure as hell replacing my sink!" A stray bullet flew by his ear, ripping his wig straight off his scalp and pinning it to the wall. He ducked back down beneath his desk, spying Kamala and her newfound baby kitten watching from the sidelines. "Ka-MALA Harrees!" he shouted. "Get over here and stop betting on the Russians!"

"Aww". She lowered her foam finger and wallet in disappointment, the man who was about to take her 10-to-1 odds glaring at the President as he interrupted their deal. She walked casually through the crossfire, the kitten cuddling into the confines of her arm as the most powerful people in the world duked it out from opposite ends of the room. Plunking herself down next to Trump, she took one of the refreshing Chick-Fil-A ™ Lemonade's from Trump's food cart, having missed her breakfast. Trump looked at her in shock as she casually sipped it, raising her eyebrows at him to speak. "What are you doing, Koomala! Grab a gun and shoot them!" he screeched. "Calmala down, Donald. Why are you even fighting? I thought you were working with the Russians?".

"We were, and it was going TREMENDOUSLY before you got here. But then the Russians said Die Hard ™ wasn't a Christmas movie, and one thing led to another…" Trump shrugged. "Sometimes you just can't let things slide, you know?" Kamala was about to respond, but the door to the office swung open again, revealing an entirely-nonplussed Vladimir Putin in a bathrobe. He too, was holding a refreshing Chick-Fil-A ™ Lemonade, available at every store!, in his hand, but from his expression it was clear nobody had told him yet what was happening. He surveyed the war-torn landscape for a moment, before grabbing his phone from his pocket and, fingers flying away on the buttons, sent a text.

Donald's phone made a resounding "DING", as he, like always, had forgotten to put it on silent. Putin's message was short and to the point. "Looks like this partnership ain't gonna work out. Headed home. Bringing your wife with me". Trump threw his phone away in disgust as Kamala broke into laughter, the Russians across the room scattering as Trump's Nokia blasted their cover to smithereens. She couldn't help but snort as they scrambled to the doorway, lobbing ineffectual insults behind them as Trump's stormtrooper-aim secret service blasted the wall they had been standing next to.

She patted his shoulder, giving a small amount of pity to the man who had had her locked up for weeks and the President-elect killed. "Sorry Trump, sometimes you lose some, sometimes you lose some more". He jerked away at her touch, covering his shoulder. "Don't touch me woman! You know the Dark Lord can't resist your touch! He is too weak!" A hazy voice behind Trump's head hissed at them both. " _I require some refreshments. Donald, grab the lemonade. We must escape before she takes out her own Nokia"_.

Indeed, Kamala was already slipping her hand into her own pocket to produce a slightly modified phone, aka her Nukia. One button and the whole building would go up in flames faster than Bernie Sander's election chances at the DNC convention. Kamala ignored the Dark Lord and Donald's muttering, talking to herself underneath her breath. "I know I should be feeling Traumalatized by what happened to me…but screw this shit I'm out. PEACE" she yelled, before setting her Nukia to minimum settings and chucking it into the room before closing the door behind her. She sprinted to the end of the hallway, nearly catching the tail end of the explosion as it ripped the office and surrounding infrastructure to shreds.

Ah! That would be her next campaign message. We need to work on rebuilding American's crumbling infrastructure. Kamala was sure no other politician had used that one before. She rounded the corner to see Mike Pence jogging over in a white tracksuit, beads of pure white sweat dripping from his forehead as he wiped it away with a Bible. "What just happened!" he yelled, obviously as in the dark as the whitest man in the country could be. "I just got elected!" she replied cheerfully. "Or at least, just as fairly as your electoral college system allows!" She patted him on the shoulder, watching his horrified expression and hands making the sign of the cross before jogging away, yelling "JESUS LOVES YOU" to a group of terrified interns huddling in the corner. Kamala put Boris the kitten down, deciding that it was finally time for her to go visit her husband.

The end.


End file.
